Perfect
by Ellis McGuinn
Summary: Lor/Tino...maybe...A Weekenders fic from Lor's POV. I'm done!
1. Hanging out with Thompson! EEE!

FRIDAY  
  
Standing outside Funville Arcade, I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath, and mentally cracked my knuckles. As soon as I opened that door and walked over to the pool tables, it would be official. Thompson and I would be hanging out.  
  
Check that: Me. Thompson. Hanging out. Oooh, yes. Yes. Yes yes yes.  
  
It was this joyous thought, I think, that gave me the courage to open the door. So smitten was I by Thompson's dashing good looks and easygoing charm that ordinarily I was incapable of movement or speech when he was around. But now, my confidence restored by his asking me to hang out-yup, he asked me, Lor MacQuarrie, to hang out-I was ready. My red baseball cap was artistically arranged backwards on my head, my favorite blue shirt with the rocket was clean, as were my baggy jeans. I smelled lemony fresh with a hint of mint. I was ready for anything, including making witty but casual chit-chat with Thompson.  
  
As I strode through the arcade, I even tossed my hair. Short hair covered by a hat doesn't toss much, but I did it anyway. I practiced my best toothpaste-commercial smile. By the virtual motorcycles I caught sight of him, that gorgeous blue hair, those broad shoulders, those sunglasses, and my wrists shook with a little spasm. You are not nervous, I told myself. Be cool. Be cool.  
  
He didn't see me until I was right next to him, until we were both bathed in the glow of the lamp over the pool table. He turned and smiled at me then, his eyes crinkling up around his signature sunglasses. Idly I wondered what color his eyes were, and couldn't help suppress a smile at the thought that I'd find out soon enough. I was hanging out with Thompson!  
  
"Lor," he said quietly, "hi."  
  
"Hey! What's up?"  
  
He moved his head from side to side and inhaled. This is great, I thought gleefully, he's nervous! He looks just like me trying to get up the guts to open the door!  
  
Slowly he exhaled. "I wanted to talk to you." Thompson said.  
  
"Yeah?" I asked eagerly.  
  
"About Tish." He finished.  
  
My heart seized up, froze, and shattered. Tish. Tish Katzufracas. One of my best friends. Smart, earnest, diligent, perky. I felt like I'd gotten the wind knocked out of me. This wasn't playing out the way it had in my dreams. "What.what about Tish?"  
  
He tilted his head up toward the ceiling and twisted his fingers around. "She's so dreamy!" he sighed. Dreamy?! Oh, perfect. I was really glad I couldn't see the look in his eyes when he said that. I might have hurled all over the untouched game of pool.  
  
I tried to keep a bored expression on my face. "Uh-huh. Right. And?"  
  
"Well, you guys are like this, right?" He held up two crossed fingers. "I was hoping you could help me out. I mean, I never know what to talk to her about except for algebra class. I don't want her to think I'm some kind of geek."  
  
"No, no," I assured him, feeling sicker by the minute, "Geek is good. Ask her about the dulcimer sometime."  
  
"No way! She plays the dulcimer?"  
  
"Yeah.oh, don't tell me. You do too."  
  
"Since I was seven."  
  
"Well, that works out nicely then," I said, not really meaning it. "I've, uh, I've gotta go. See you at school or something."  
  
"Okay. Thanks for your advice, though, Lor, you're the best!"  
  
And with that, he saluted me and walked off.  
  
Sadly I looked at the triangle of billiard balls. I wondered how Tish would take it, when he finally finished moving his head and taking deep breaths, and finally got up the guts to tell her how he felt. After all the times she'd insisted she didn't like Thompson, that he was all mine as far as she was concerned, would she actually turn him down? I would be just as bummed if she did-if I wasn't good enough for him and he wasn't good enough for her, what was the point? I mean, at least if Thompson and Tish found happiness, that'd at least be something good, right? So how come I wasn't feeling glad for my friend? How come I was feeling sorry for myself? 


	2. What's wrong with me?

SATURDAY  
  
"And that," I finished dramatically, "is how come I don't think I'm gonna be hanging out with Thompson any more."  
  
Carver was examining his fingernails, which were of course perfect. His eyes were as glazed as a box of Krispy Kreme's finest, and there was a little trickle of drool at the corner of his mouth.  
  
Tino was sitting on the floor staring up at me with wide eyes, hugging a beach ball. He looked, in an endearing kind of way, like a first grader at Story Time in the public library.  
  
"That was it? He just wanted to ask you about what he should say to Tish?"  
  
I nodded balefully. "Yup."  
  
"That's."  
  
Before he could finish, Carver fell off the rail next to Tino's bed with a resounding thunk. Quickly getting up and brushing his clothes, he dashed out of the room without so much as a word of farewell.  
  
Tino stared after him for a couple seconds, before shaking his head and continuing. "That's so awful. All that time you were so in love with Thompson, he felt exactly the same way about Tish. It's a cruel, cruel world."  
  
That was it. I knew what he said was true. But hearing someone else say it, out loud, it broke what little dignity I had left. I burst into tears.  
  
I don't cry much. I know Tino had never seen me. He was immediately on his feet, and next to me. Having dropped the beach ball, he didn't know what to do with his hands. He just stood there, staring at my streaky face in an alarmed manner, wiggling his fingers.  
  
"T-t-tiiiiino!" I wailed. "What am I gonna do? Cause Tish is my friend and I want her to be happy and I also don't want Thompson to, but, oooh, what's wrong with me, huh? How come Tish instead of me, I want to know! But I want Tish to be happy, I really do, and, and, and, but what's wrong with me?"  
  
A little awkwardly, he put his hand on my arm and lowered his chin to my shoulder. "Come on, Lor," he said. "I mean, your love life isn't wrecked forever. You can't let one totally unaware shade-wearing hottie make you think you're a reject." He stared pleadingly at me with anxious blue eyes. Such a deep blue shade. The kind of blue you could lose yourself in. Blue like Thompson's hair.  
  
I cried harder.  
  
"Lor," he said simply, and moved to hug me. "Lor," he repeated into my hair.  
  
It felt good to have someone hugging me. I put my arms around his neck. "Thompson," I whimpered, sniffling a little.  
  
"No."  
  
"No," I agreed sadly. "No more Thompson."  
  
"You'll be okay, Lor." He shifted so his lips were next to my ear.  
  
I sighed. No more Thompson.  
  
"Lor," he whispered.  
  
"Tino?" I answered.  
  
"Lor."  
  
And that was all he said before he let me go, and went to sit on the floor again. He frowned viciously at the beach ball he'd been cuddling so sweetly earlier.  
  
Carver came bursting back into the room, and picked up his backpack. "I have to go home," he said, "but I'll see y'all at the beach tomorrow, right? Eleven AM sharp. And Tino, dude, it's your turn to pop for the freakin' Chug-A-Freezes."  
  
Tino was so zoned out, he didn't even bother to deny it. 


	3. Life is tough when your mom is a mindrea...

Author's note: Thank you thank you thank you to all who reviewed, cause you guys make me feel special. And I realize that this is from Lor's perspective and unless she was there she wouldn't know what went on at Tino's during dinner. But I don't care! Ahahaha! Now maybe I should make some asterisks (*) or some swirly things (~), or even both together (*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*) to separate the story from my babbling. Or, on second thought, maybe I'll just hit the Enter key a bunch.  
SATURDAY NIGHT  
  
Whatever dinner was, it was purple. And it smelled like fish. And it made a rather loud squelching sound upon being pulled out of its dish to be ker- plopped onto Tino's plate.  
  
"Mom," Tino said, cautiously prodding the sticky substance with the tip of his fork, "dinner is purple."  
  
"Mmmm-hm," she responded calmly, as she dug in. "You eat purple things."  
  
"I do not."  
  
"Grapes. You like grapes."  
  
"Yeah, well, this isn't grapey purple. This is some other kind of purple. Like, alien guts purple."  
  
"It's not alien guts," his mother sighed, rolling her eyes.  
  
"It's not grapes either," Tino countered.  
  
"No, it's not. Oh, that reminds me," she went on hastily, ignoring the suspicion clear on Tino's face, "Carver accidentally locked himself in the bathroom today."  
  
"Yeah. Everyone was acting all weird today. Including you. How come grapes reminded you of Carver locking himself in the bathroom? And speaking of weird, this stuff is--"  
  
"Everyone? I didn't think Tish was here."  
  
"No," Tino answered, "There's a temporary, ah, rift between Lor and Tish. See, yesterday, Lor went to hang out with Thompson Obermann at Funville, and--"  
  
"And Thompson, not realizing that Lor was madly in love with him, told her that he liked Tish," his mom said for him, as he sat, speechless, "leaving Lor feeling heartbroken, Tish feeling guilty, Carver feeling trapped in the bathroom, and you also heartbroken."  
  
"What? Me? Heartbroken? Not a chance!" Tino squeaked, gesturing madly with his hands.  
  
"Tino, sweetie, I'm your mom. I know these things. And take it from me: you are heartbroken."  
  
"GaaaAAAaah!"  
  
"I know you wish Lor would hurry up and get over Thompson, I know you hate that two of your best friends feel bad, I know you don't know what to do to make it better, I know you're not sure about your feelings for Lor, and I know you can totally sympathize with Carver on the whole accidentally- getting-locked-in-the-bathroom thing. Now eat your purple stuff."  
  
"What IS that stuff, anyway?"  
  
"What you don't know can't hurt you."  
  
"I bet you get hurt a lot, then, don't you?" Tino asked peevishly, but he took a hesitant bite. It tasted wonderful. 


	4. One of those holy crap moments

SUNDAY  
  
I stretched out on my towel, raked my fingers through the hot sand. To hide my still-pinkish eyes and splotchy face, I was donning a pair of black sunglasses. On one side of my towel, Tino was lying comatose face-down. I was pretty sure he hadn't said anything at all for at least twenty minutes. On my other side, Carver was sipping a large Chug-A-Freez and commenting on the toenails and footwear of passersby in a soft, analytical voice. He sounded like a golf announcer.  
  
"Ooh," he would say appreciatively, "that girl's had a professional pedicure." But then, in a stern manner, " I can't say I condone those rubber flip-flops, though. Especially in that nasty magenta color. All wrong for her skin tone."  
  
I didn't care about people's shoes. I cared even less, if it was possible, about toenails. Mostly I just wanted to see Tish. I hadn't clapped eyes on hide nor hair of the lovely, perfect Museum Goddess all weekend. As much as I didn't want to, I needed to tell Tish about what Thompson said. She had a right to know.  
  
For what seemed like a long time, I sat there, with Tino not moving a muscle and Carver keeping up the monotonous commentary. Then I saw her. Them.  
  
Tish. And Thompson. Together. Talking. Laughing. Seeing the look on Tish's face, I stopped feeling sorry for myself, and started feeling sorry for her. I'd been hogging her dream guy. It must have been hard for her to deal with that.  
  
And then Thompson Obermann did something shocking, something unprecedented, something totally unexpected. He reached up and took off his trademark shades.  
  
"Holy crap!" screeched Carver, gawking at them.  
  
"Holy crap," I seconded. "Thompson must really like Tish."  
  
"Oh, definitely. But are you okay with that?" Carver asked, raising one eyebrow.  
  
I shrugged.  
  
"Well," Carver went on, "this looks like it's going to be a hot topic on Monday. I'm off to get all the juicy details." Looking over at Tino, he said, "Do you want to come along, or stay here and make sure no one steals Tino to use as a doorstop?"  
  
I was pretty sure I was happier not knowing any juicy details. "I'll stay here and fend off the doorstop hunters, thanks all the same," I told him.  
  
"Suit yourself," he said, and walked off.  
  
I pulled my legs to my chest and placed my chin on my knee. I really hoped Tish wouldn't be mad at me.  
  
"Are you okay with that?" Tino asked me, his words muffled by the fact that he had his face in a towel.  
  
"Am I okay with what?" Tino, at long last, rolled over, revealing a facial expression that said loud and clear, what, are you crazy? "Thompson and Tish. Surely you're not over him already? As of Friday afternoon you were madly in love."  
  
Truth be told, I wasn't sure if I was over him. I sighed. "It stings, but I really am happy for Tish."  
  
"You don't look happy, Lor."  
  
"Yeah, well."  
  
"Leaves kind of a hole in your life, doesn't it? Who are you going to obsess about? Who's going to motivate you to fix your hair? What's going to make you shut up, if a guy doesn't?"  
  
I turned my head toward him, surprised. "You told me yesterday that my love life wasn't ruined forever. I'm sure there will be others." I turned back to watching Thompson, whose shades were back on. "Although maybe not with such terrific cheekbones."  
  
"No replacement yet, though, I take it."  
  
"No. Why?"  
  
"Because I don't have any cheekbones at all." 


	5. The symbolism of sunglasses

"On a scale from one to ten," Tino said, "how important would you say cheekbones are? I mean, really. Be honest."  
  
Actually, to be honest, I'd never thought about cheekbones in general. I'd always thought about Thompson's.  
  
"Cheekbones? On a scale from one to ten?"  
  
"Yup."  
  
"Uh, a three, maybe? Two and a half?"  
  
"Only a three, tops?" He turned over on his side, propping his head on his arm. "How come you liked Thompson, then, if not for his cheekbones?"  
  
Why did I like Thompson? Duh! "Because he's--" Hmm. Why did I like Thompson? Was there any one trait that really made the difference, between heartthrob and just your average Joe on the street? I thought. "Well, he's really smart, and funny, and a nice guy, you know, he volunteers at Helpers Helping the Helpless all the time, and I like the color his hair is."  
  
Tino, his head still resting on his arm, stared at me intensely as I listed all the reasons that Thompson Obermann was a total dreamboat. I noticed again how close his eye color was to Thompson's hair color. Suddenly feeling rather uncomfortable, I shifted positions on my towel and looked nervously down at my dark red toenails. I wondered whether Carver would approve of the crimson shade on so fair-skinned a person.  
  
Tino didn't say anything.  
  
"You know, your eyes are almost exactly the same color."  
  
"I wonder what color his eyes are," Tino speculated, ignoring my remark. I'd meant it as a compliment.  
  
I shrugged. "He didn't take off the shades for me."  
  
Tino rolled over onto his stomach again, but stayed facing me, with his elbow in the sand and his chin on the heel of his hand. "Lor," he said seriously, "if I were the kind of freak who wore shades all the time, I would take them off for you."  
  
Tino wanted to take Thompson's place in my dreams. Was that what he meant by that? Either that, or I was about to look reallllllly stupid.  
  
"Are you--" I whispered.  
  
He didn't even need me to finish the question. "Yes," he said decisively.  
  
I felt all squishy inside. What was so great about Thompson? I couldn't even remember. Smart, funny, nice, and that lovely shade of blue? I looked at Tino and saw all four of those things.  
  
I took off my sunglasses and set them on his towel.  
  
I heard his breath catch. "Does--"  
  
I didn't wait for him to finish, either. "Yes."  
  
He smiled a little bit, and reached over to touch my hand, running his fingertips over my palm.  
  
I smiled back. 


	6. Blah blah blah

Author's note: I think this fic is done. Unless I decide to come back and add a fluffy kissing ending. Which is entirely possible, because I just love fluffy kissing endings. So I'm trying to think of a project to do next. Maybe I'll do a songfic with a GOOD song, because it continually amazes me, the quality-level of songs used on this site. It's pretty sad when you're trying to do a "deep" story based on Limp Bizkit, know what I'm saying? Oh well. If anyone has a suggestion of even what genre I should try, pretty please leave a review! 


	7. Fluffy kissing ending So corny!

MONDAY  
  
Just as I had on Friday afternoon, I stood outside a door, dying to open it but afraid of what I'd find if I did. Only this time, the door in question was Tino's front door. We hadn't gotten to continue yesterday; we were interrupted by Carver's return. Late last night, though, he'd called me and arranged to do homework together. He hadn't mentioned the day's earlier events.  
  
So now I was nervous. What if he'd changed his mind? Worse yet, what if I'd completely misread the whole situation? What if this was just a normal thing, and Tish and Carver would be there as well?  
  
Speaking of Tish and Carver, I hadn't ever been to Tino's house without them. We'd always just walked in, but by myself, was I supposed to ring the doorbell? What if Tish and Carver were already there? If I rang the doorbell, would they suspect that I thought it would be just Tino and me, and if so, would they figure out what was happening, you know, between us, and if so, would they disapprove, and if so-  
  
"Uh, Lor? Maybe you should come inside." Tino's mom was leaning out the kitchen window, looking at me expectantly.  
  
"Oh, uh, good call," I said sheepishly, and let myself in. Well, that took care of the doorbell issue, anyway.  
  
I walked up the stairs and down the hall to Tino's room. Oh, perfect. Yet another door. I closed my eyes tightly and pushed it open.  
  
Tino looked up from his computer. "Lor," he said, by way of greeting. He turned off his monitor and walked over to me.  
  
I removed my backpack from my shoulders. He took it from me and set it gently on the floor. The awkward silence was killing me. He put his hands on my waist. They were warm. I wondered if I felt cold to him.  
  
"Do you still mean it, Lor?" he asked softly.  
  
I nodded. "Do you?"  
  
"Of course. I was just afraid you wouldn't." He hesitated, leaned his head down, hesitated again, and kissed me on the cheek, slowly. He pulled away.  
  
The silly boy.  
  
With one hand on the back of his neck and the other in his hair, I guided his face back to mine and kissed him squarely on the mouth. He smiled through the kiss, tightened his grip, and drew me even closer.  
  
When we parted, he whispered, "This may be a stupid question, but do you want to stay for dinner?"  
  
I looked up at him. "I'd love to."  
  
"Seriously?"  
  
I kissed him right below the ear, where neck and jaw met.  
  
"You're perfect," he told me.  
  
"You're my best friend," I answered.  
  
And then I moved into his arms again, admiring the perfect blue of his eyes. 


End file.
